hot

Still f'ing hot, but I blog on, my solemn responsibility to my readers overcoming my desire to lie inert in a puddle of my own sweat.

The coast was just lovely.
Eighty or so with a nice cool sea breeze.
We split a sandwich at a cafe by the bay then adjourned to the little boat dock & watched a flight of white pelicans bob for fish and take baths out on the water.
It was scenic as hell, which I'd never noticed before in spite of growing up there and spending quite a bit of my childhood riding my bike to that pier with my dog to tromp around on the mud flats, or go for a float in my leaky inflatable raft.

I attribute this to my improved mental health rather than some comprehensive & arcane urban renewal program.

Forgot the camera, so no pix for Anner.
I do have a shot of breakfast in the yard the other day.
Hopefully this will placate her.

A guy just brought in a copy of White Line Fever, the autobiography of Motorhead's lead singer Lemmy.
That baby's coming home with me!